Housecarl to the Dragonborn
by CreamWafers
Summary: After hearing a mysterious voice from the sky, Lydia is called on to be the housecarl of Rena, the Dragonborn. This fanfic is almost completely true to Skyrim's main questline, and is rated M for graphic depictions of violence/mild sexual references.
1. Chapter 1

This is a story about Lydia and the Dragonborn (female). A major male character or two will be introduced in the next chapters. I have not yet decided whether I want romance in this fanfic or not.

It was the fifth of the Morning Star when Lydia heard the cry. She was alone, returning to Whiterun on foot—her steed had died in an unexpectedly difficult errand at Fort Greymoor. Lydia noted no sound but the crunch of the frosty grass and the rhythmic clanking of her freshly wetted blade in its sheath. Everything was all right; what mattered was that the bandits were dead. As Whiterun's stables came into sight, Lydia drew her blade to wipe the blood from it.

The cry began with a tremble in the earth, like the echo of a stone cast off a high summit, but the sound was from above. Then from the sky the voice thundered, uttering three syllables in an archaic tongue. Its volume carried a formidable power, but was calm. Even with such clarity, the syllables were incomprehensible to Lydia. She knew at once that the voice was directed somewhere else, yet in passing by, it evoked within her a chill colder than any northern wind. She averted her gaze to the stables and made for the Whiterun gate, forgetting her minor wounds.

"Did you hear that, Jervar—oh, there you are, Lydia!" Skulvar Sable-Hilt called upon noticing the warrior. "What in Talos's name… You did hear it too, right?"

"I… Yes, Skulvar," she replied, surprised at the hoarseness of her own voice. "So it wasn't just me. Strange. I'm sure there will be someone in Dragonsreach who knows what that was."

The large, ragged stable master brushed the snowflakes from his beard. "I hope so. Dragonsreach—that's right, you're returning to the Jarl from that fort. Back without the steed, are we?"

"Yes, I am truly sorry. The bandits were twice the number I expected, and while I was inside Greymoor they—"

"No, no. Don't be. You're bleeding all over, any fool can see you've been in a nasty fight. I ain't mad as long as you've got the coin to pay for the horse. Good thing I didn't send you out with a finer one."

Lydia smiled slightly. "You can expect the gold today. I'll head into the city now, thank you for what you do."

She continued up the snow-covered path. The loyal city gate was not yet open; Lydia must have been the first to arrive in Whiterun that morning. A few guards were situated idly atop a nearby rock, passing a half-empty bottle of mead among each other. The guards quickly collected themselves at the sight of Lydia, being accustomed to her early morning appearances. The gate produced a loud and rusty creak as one of the guards tugged the doors open wordlessly. Lydia murmured thanks and passed into the Plains District, which was still mostly asleep, save a couple guards and shadowed beggars.

The ascent to the Cloud District was a habitual journey for Lydia, especially in such busy times. Jarl Balgruuf was distressingly busy lately and needed errands done. Word in the Cloud District had reached Lydia that he was occupied with matters of war. It was not surprising—Lydia was not very familiar with the war's latest news, but anyone could see that the conflict between the Stormcloaks and Imperials had burst into flame like a great bonfire, and more kindling was being added by the day. Lydia wished to avoid any kind of involvement with this conflict; she intended to use her sword arm only for errands on the side. She was still a Nord at heart, but wanted to stay clear of the battlefield.

The steward, Proventus Avenicci, was standing in the doorway of Dragonsreach impatiently, taking care not to get snow on his fine quilted robes. His rat-like features always gave him a slight scowl, but Proventus spoke elegantly, and there was never a day when he did not have a few valuable words of advice hidden in that bald head of his.

"One moment, please," the steward said, gesturing towards the corner of the room just inside Dragonsreach, where Lydia could hear the echo of the Jarl's voice. Proventus shut the door tentatively and brought a skinny finger to his lips, whispering: "I'm glad you came on time for this. Head towards Farengar's quarters; I'll explain in just a moment. Quickly, come along."

Lydia did as she was told, not bothering to ask what she was on time for. She sensed a general air of importance which she did not desire to disrupt. She quietly followed the steward through familiar carpeted halls and slipped into the chamber of the Court Wizard Farengar, who was dozing off at his desk, his head resting over a pile of tomes and mysterious supplies. The room was clean and in good order, filled with shelves of curiosities that Lydia preferred not to meddle with.

"There's no need to wake him just yet," Proventus remarked. "Here, settle into this chair if you please. I'll take that helmet for you."

She removed the steel helmet and stretched her sore neck, handing the helmet to Proventus. She was happy to take the weight off her legs, but helplessly confused. "Um…" she began. "Would you be so kind as to explain…"

"Oh, of course. Nothing grave, everything is fine. But Jarl Balgruuf is currently speaking with a new Thane of Whiterun."

Lydia recognized instantly her own significance in the matter. "A Thane," she gasped. "And that means—"

"Yes, the Thane will have the privilege of your services as housecarl. A fine privilege if I do say so myself."

She became lost in thought. Of course it was an exciting and significant piece of news, but was it for better or for worse? It was certainly a surprise on an already eventful day. Lydia searched her mind for questions, choosing which to ask first.

"Who _is_ this Thane?" Lydia asked.

"You see, that's the odd part. This Thane isn't from Whiterun—in fact, the name slipped my mind. I haven't had a good look at him yet… Or her. I'm sorry but you will find that out soon enough."

"Okay… Then do you know what deed this new Thane has performed either?"

"I'm sorry again. I am of no help at the moment. If you have any other questions, I will try my hardest to answer."

Lydia came to a realization—the news had almost made her forget the cry, the extraordinary voice from above that she had heard outside the city.

"One more, sir. Did you hear that… That _voice_ earlier? Do you know anything of it?"

"Ah. Now that is a question Farengar will surely be able to answer for you. Maybe let's wake him from his slumber—"

"_Proventus! Bring Lydia here into the hall,_" Jarl Balgruuf's voice boomed throughout the hold.

"Oh well, Lydia, now is your time!" he teased, drawing back from the sleeping wizard. Lydia drew in a small breath before exiting the chamber, her footsteps echoing on the wood floor and she and the steward approached the throne. She was aware of the cold eyes of the Jarl, as well as the obviousness of her presence.

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was as he usually appeared: clad in jewels and embroidered robes, sitting back in the throne with such comfort that it only enhanced his intimidating demeanor.

"I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl," he said to the stranger standing before the throne. Lydia's spine shivered at the utterance of her own name, though she could not wholly understand why. However, years of involvement with the affairs of the Cloud District had given her the ability to become a mask when she needed to; any feelings boiling inside would remain as she wore her honor and duty like a suit of keenly forged steel. And this was the suit she donned as the Thane turned around.

"It is an honor, my Thane," Lydia said before even looking at her new superior, longing for a quick response to end the nervous introductions. When she finally looked upon the stranger, Lydia was struck by surprise.

Lydia was not expecting it to be a woman. She was also not expecting it to be such a small woman; she stood nearly a head's height above her Thane. The woman seemed as shaken from battle as Lydia, her cheek marked with a jagged cut that looked almost like the scratch of a claw. Her features were those of an Imperial, with eyes like two steel-gray lamps shining from beneath black brows and eyelashes. She looked stern and tired, but there was a certain elegance in the tatters of her cloak and the way the scratch curved along the contours of her face.

"I… It is also an honor for me. My name is Rena." Rena spoke slowly, her voice softer than Lydia had expected from her stern and authoritative appearance. Before she could say another word, the Jarl called the Thane's attention.

"There is more to give you, Thane of Whiterun," Balgruuf said with more than just a hint of superciliousness in his voice. "This axe, from my weaponry. Consider it a little gift—I think you will find it useful." He held the ornately crafted steel war axe in open palms, Rena giving a small respectful bow as she accepted the weapon with both hands. "Both of you are free to go now. Oh, just be sure to stop by Farengar's quarters. I have no doubt the events of today have confused you. Farengar will… Clear that up."

Lydia bowed modestly to the Jarl and turned towards her Thane, waiting for her words, which were simple enough:

"Would you show me the way?"

"Of course, my Thane. Follow me please."

Lydia's confidence was reassured by her knowledge of Dragonsreach, and Whiterun as a whole. She had been born in Whiterun, and never travelled far; she knew the city almost as well as the Jarl did. There was no part of Whiterun that was a secret to her. Of course the same could not be said for her Thane—Lydia found some petty solace in this fact, which kept her calm enough.

"It is right to the left," she said, stepping aside for her Thane to enter the wizard's chamber first. This time Farengar was awake, but the swelling around his eyes and ruffled robes made it clear that he had not been awake for long. Farengar was not an old man, but he seemed to have aged in his weariness. It was the fatigue of a man in the middle of intense studies, a man with a temporary obsession.

"Greetings, Thane of Whiterun," Farengar welcomed Rena. "Well, we should not waste time. You both want to know about that voice, correct?" The wizard did not wait for an answer. "You, Thane. _Dragonborn_. I'm sure you have been addressed with that title a couple times already. Would you pronounce the words for us, the words from that clamor we all heard this morning?" For a brief moment, silence filled the chamber.

"_Do-vah-kiin._" The sounds came from Rena's lips as barely a whisper. _Dovahkiin._ Those were the syllables, the ancient words that Lydia could not identify. In a strange way, the words in her Thane's whisper made Lydia feel the same chill that she had felt at the sound of them booming from the sky.

Excitement began to show in Farengar's tired eyes. "Of course. You can guess what that means, can't you, _Dovahkiin._"

Rena glanced solemnly at the floor. "The voice… It called me, didn't it? After I… Shouted. Someone wants me. You know who it is—I do not."

"You are correct, Dragonborn. I will stop teasing you and get to the point. What you heard was a summons from the Greybeards. All you need to know about the Greybeards is that they live at High Hrothgar, high on the Throat of the World, the mountain by Ivarstead. It is in their interest to aid you in your learning of the Thu'um—the shout. The rest will be clear once you arrive at High Hrothgar. But you and Lydia should get ready as soon as can be. You do not want to keep the Greybeards waiting."

"Thank you, Farengar. We will make preparations."

Lydia allowed her Thane to exit before grabbing the steel helmet and following her outside of Dragonsreach. She found herself with more questions newly risen than Farengar had answered. Lydia knew at least that her Thane had earned the title by slaying the dragon at the Western Watchtower. Lydia had received some limited information on that event, but there had been nothing to prove that the dragon Mirmulnir was more than a rumor from the Whiterun streets. Her mind had not drawn the connection. It seemed that the rest of her questions could be answered in a conversation with Rena, but only if she would condescend to converse with her housecarl.

Lydia could not draw very much information about Rena's character from their first interactions. She did not know what to expect of her, especially with the way that the relationship between a Thane and his housecarl varies infinitely based on the identity of the two. Some Thanes would treat their housecarls as their most trusted friends and advisors, some as a mere servants, some only mules for the transportation of valuables. A Thane might take a housecarl to bed for more "personal" services—Lydia was glad that her chance of getting into that sort of situation was very slim.

Lydia did not know where her Thane was going, but she followed her footsteps in silence as they descended through each district in the thickening snow. Not a word was spoken between the two, but the city was growing noisy enough with the sun's ascent in the ivory sky that the silence was kept from becoming uncomfortable. In fact, the bitter cold was all that made Lydia uncomfortable at that moment—she was born a Nord, but the winter had been strangely cold. Lydia wondered how well Rena was adjusting to the harsh winds of Skyrim, if she was from Cyrodiil. If her Thane had any complaint, she kept it well hidden as any warrior would.

They soon reached the city gate, now held open with iron chains as the city was wide awake. A group of travelling Khajiits had halted their caravan while Lydia and Rena were in Dragonsreach, and they were raising a crude camp which hugged the city wall at a point where it was unguarded. One could not deny that the cat-men looked pitiful as they tried to secure their tents in the snow, their fur covered in snowflakes. Lydia still did not trust the Khajiit, and thought it best to keep them out of the city.

Therefore, Lydia was surprised when her Thane stopped walking abruptly and turned towards the tents. A pale-furred Khajiit caught sight of Rena and ceased his labor.

"Hello friend," he said to Rena in a quiet, deceitful voice. "If you're looking to buy, this one cannot help you today." His Eyes squinted in the cold wind. "We have work we must finish."

"Please, Ri'saad," Rena responded. "There is no need to bargain this time. Just a few potions of healing, for the usual price. Here, I have the coin." She drew a coin purse from her satchel and held it before her.

"Oh alright. This one has trouble refusing. I will bring them now." The Khajiit ambled to his cart, lifting the lid of a chest within it and peering at the contents. He reached a clawed hand into the chest and pulled out five bottles of a bright red healing solution. He dropped them into Rena's satchel before holding out his hand to accept the coin. "Thank you again. May your road lead you to warm sands."

Lydia stood silently and watched the purchase. She knew better than to ask her Thane why she was dealing with such people as the Khajiit. Soon, her Thane was on her way back into the Plains District. This time, the two arrived at The Bannered Mare. It was a popular tavern in Whiterun, but Lydia did not frequent taverns. Lydia was slightly vexed at the manner in which Rena walked about without speaking a word of her purpose or destination. Lydia was a housecarl, however, and she knew there were many things she would be expected to tolerate.

The bannered mare was especially crowded that day; Lydia could barely hear Hulda's words of welcome over the drunken townsfolk chattering about the fire, as well as the bard Mikael playing Whiterun's favorite tune: Ragnar the Red. The commotion faded slightly as Lydia followed Rena into the dimly lit hall. Rena led her to the door at the very end; this was where it was quietest. It was not until she gently pushed the door shut that Rena spoke.

"I'm sorry for all this."

She hung her cloak on a hook by the door and slung her satchel off her shoulder, emptying some of its contents into the bedside table: the five potions from the Khajiit, a few rolls of parchment paper and a few pieces of charcoal, a plainly made silver ring, and an amulet of Mara.

"Farengar left you confused, I am guessing. That is fine, since I can probably tell you what you wanted to know. But first…"

She shut the drawer of the table and her eyes met Lydia's. "What is your job exactly, as housecarl?"

The question could not have been an easier one to answer. "As housecarl, I am sworn to protect you and all that you own, with my life."

"That is all?"

"Any other agreements are for you to decide, my Thane."

"I see." Her stare was still piercing, but Lydia had come to the conclusion that there was no message that Rena was attempting to convey to her. At that point, it was becoming clear that her Thane was lost in thought.

"I suppose it is my turn to give you answers then," she began. "Nothing is clear for me either, but something happened at the Western Watchtower that gave me a new identity among the guards." She sighed, and at that moment Lydia almost felt equal with her Thane in their disorientation. "When I killed that dragon," Rena continued, "When I killed Mirmulnir… I felt something transfer from the dragon to me. It was like an incomplete part of me became complete, with what the dragon left for me—I cannot explain. Then I heard the name "Dragonborn" from one of the guards. They had noticed what happened. They asked me to shout. I…"

Her words ceased abruptly, and started again on a darker tone. "It feels difficult to keep talking."

"You do not have to continue," Lydia interrupted in spite of herself, "if you don't want to, that is. I already understand a little more. I would not demand anything of you, Thane."

"It's fine," she replied. "It's just…" Her voice grew even quieter until the muffled sound of the lute from the main room was dominant. Then Rena's gray eyes glittered strangely with what might have been fear. "You know how Ulfric killed the High King."

Lydia knew her silence would speak a better message than her words. She knew then that she was housecarl to the Dragonborn, the one whose tale would be in songs for millennia—even if the Dragonborn did not know this herself, Lydia knew. She had known at first glance.

"But we need to rest soon," her Thane announced. If there had been a hint of a shudder in her voice, it was gone. "Will you accompany me tomorrow on the journey to answer my summons?"

"Yes, _Dragonborn_." She said.


	2. Chapter 2

Whiterun was bathed in the glow of the fiery sunset. There were long shadows cast everywhere, and the last room of the Bannered Mare was cloaked in the shade of Whiterun's walls. The door gave a mournful creak as Lydia slipped into the room. It was dark enough at the moment that Rena had needed a candle in order to finish packing her essential items. She was just done, sitting idly at the foot of the bed. Lydia could not help but notice that her Thane had not only packed up her own belongings, but Lydia's as well; they were all neatly stored in canvas bags that lay in a pile by the window. It was a bit strange to do such a thing, she confessed to herself, but definitely a deed that called for recognition.

"I see you have put together my equipment, Thane. You did not have to do that—I thank you."

"I was thinking we could set out tonight if I readied quickly enough."

"As you wish. I was just at the stables to pay a debt to Skulvar, the stable master. He said that he is willing to lend us a carriage for the trip. Understanding that you have an important task to complete, it will be free of charge. Do you want to take it, my Thane?"

The _Dragonborn_ rose, planting her foot against the wall to fasten her leather boots. "I see no reason to refuse. Are you ready?" She lifted her travelling cloak from its hook to find that it was damp with melted snow, throwing it about her shoulders anyway. "Come, take your things and let's head for the stables." The room was suddenly illuminated by a shaft of sunlight poking in through a broken roof panel, and Lydia shuffled out of the room. The tavern was still and silent by then, save the crackling of the fire pit.

"Will it be another night's payment or are you on your way now?" Hulda inquired from behind the counter, lifting her gaze from the surfaces she was cleaning.

"We will be on the road now," Rena answered. "We are going to Ivarstead. I am sure there will be much to tell once we return. Goodbye."

Outside, the copper sun was sinking lower upon the horizon and most of the merchants were beginning to collapse their market stalls, gathering up the goods that were yet to be sold another day. With the large sacks slung about them, Lydia and her Thane received more than one wary glance from the guards who suspected thievery—until they recognized Lydia, who would explain the situation. The two had been sure to pack as scant number of arrows as possible, keeping heavy armor at a minimum as well. Lydia had chosen a hide shield in place of her steel one and only packed two loaves of bread in the unlikely case they could not find food during their travels. The load was still cumbersome, and they needed to rest at the gate before continuing to the stables. Skulvar seemed to be expecting them, leaning against the stable wall.

"The carriage is behind the stable, but the steed is right up here," Skulvar explained, passing the reins of a sturdy, dapple gray horse into Lydia's hands. "This is Dusk. She's a fine mare, been through the nastiest terrain and weather of Skyrim. I trust that you won't get this one killed, eh?"

"Of course not," Lydia answered, leading Dusk along the perimeter of the stables. "We are supposed to meet priests at High Hrothgar this time, not bandits at Fort Greymoor."

"High Hrothgar. So it's true then. You travel with the _Dragonborn_. Your journey is an important one indeed." He turned to Rena and said with honest respect, "It is an honor, Thane. I wish you the best of luck on your journey. If you don't mind, I will hook Dusk up to the carriage for you so you can be safely on your way." Skulvar took his leave for a moment to retrieve a pair of leather straps, which he fastened in place on the front of the cart. Just as the last sliver of sunlight had disappeared over the horizon and the stars were beginning to gather like dew, all of the belongings had been hauled into the carriage.

"My Thane, shall I drive the horse for now, or do you wish to?" Lydia inquired.

"Would you direct the horse? I will sharpen our blades and plan where our first stop will be. I think we can last through tonight and tomorrow, but it may mean camping in the wilderness the next night. We will see."

"As you wish, my Thane."

Neither of them spoke for quite a while, growing sleepy to the sounds of Rena's grindstone, the faint chirping of nocturnal insects and birds, and the rattling of the carriage wheels atop the undulating path. Dusk's horseshoes had been padded with straw to nullify their sound; perhaps it would help to conceal the carriage from highwaymen and the beasts of the forest. The road was kind to them thus far; the bends of the road were gradual and mild, and few obstacles littered the path. Lydia knew better than to assume that the entire journey would take on this character. While everything was calm, Lydia had the opportunity to let her thoughts drift elsewhere.

She thought of Whiterun. Lydia found her mind's picture of the city very troubling—foggy and distant, though the carriage was barely beyond the Whiterun stables. It made no sense. Lydia had never travelled far beyond the city of Whiterun, in body or in mind. She was content with the city as both her past and her future. She and her Thane could take their wagon from the Rift to the Reach, but Lydia would never let Whiterun become a memory, much less forget it.

Lydia no longer heard the clang and hiss of the grindstone. She turned her head to glance into the back of the carriage: her Thane was asleep, reclined against the wall of the cart. Lydia felt a slight amusement at the sight. Not wanting to wake her, she averted her gaze to the road ahead. Northern lights were beginning to materialize in the vastness of the night sky, a luminescent haze in shades of red and green that could be found nowhere else. The sight was common enough in Skyrim, but certainly not in Cyrodiil; it was likely that Rena had never seen the lights.

For years Lydia had anticipated becoming housecarl to the next Thane of Whiterun, but it had never crossed her mind that she would serve an Imperial. It filled her with a feeling of bewilderment and shame that her sword and shield were devoted to a likely supporter of the Legion. It was a feeling that Lydia knew she had no choice but to ignore. She was sworn to protect this _Dragonborn_ with her life, leaving petty political disagreements as nothing but irrelevant griping. With luck, her Thane would never become involved in the war anyway. Perhaps the current agenda carried even more importance than the war—if the return of the dragons were in fact a reality, Skyrim would plunge even deeper into chaos. The very prospect was alarming. And if the fate of the Skyrim fell into the hands of the _Dragonborn_, every bit of Lydia's loyalty would be needed to help carry the burdens.

Lydia stopped herself from thinking any further into the future. Her life had taken such a violent turn in the past day that she could hardly come to terms with the present. She became suddenly exhausted with all manners of thinking and became focused on the tactile perceptions of reins in her hands and cold on her skin, more than willing to become one with the lonely winter night.


	3. Chapter 3

The rays of the sun had just begun to spread into the morning sky from behind the distant outline of Dragonsreach. Crimson rays were diffusing into the atmosphere like drops of a potion in water. With her Thane awake and driving Dusk at a brisk pace, Lydia rested in the back of the wagon bandaging her cuts from the skirmish at Greymoor. Any calm she felt from the sight of Dragonsreach was outweighed by the anxiousness from the sight of it fading, becoming more obscured by the minute. Lydia wondered when she would stop looking back in the city's direction, how long it would be before the silhouette disappeared completely, and whether or not she would see it disappear. Then she realized for the first time how silly those thoughts were, swallowing her reluctance for what she decided would be the last time. After all, she was a Nord and all of Skyrim was her home.

"I think there is a farm ahead where we can stop today," Rena announced from the front of the carriage, "But I'm not certain. Would you hand the map to me?"

Lydia took the worn piece of parchment from the floor of the cart, holding it in front of her. "Yes, my Thane. I will also put away the weapons and armor if you wish."

Rena held the paper close to her face. "Let me see, it looks like we would not arrive until noon," she observed, tracing her finger along the map. "Maybe before that, but only if Dusk can handle the pace. It might be best to keep a weapon ready until we have made our stop."

"As you wish," Lydia agreed and began to pack away the linen bandages, steel breastplates, and the lantern Rena had lit briefly during the night. She left her sharpened steel blade and hide shield, though, and began to examine her Thane's weapon carefully. It was the gift from the Jarl. Lydia's eyes followed the curving edges of the axe; she felt an odd curiosity from admiring its craftsmanship. It was clearly an old weapon, notched and dented in a few places from generations of use, but the axe was cleverly made. While Rena was not looking, Lydia touched the blade for a brief moment. She withdrew her fingers in surprise at how cold the metal was. A cold like that would bite hard in combat.

Lydia felt the sun on her skin as it emerged from behind Dragonsreach, grateful for the hint of warmth it brought. The thawing snow glistened at the touch of sunlight. In the clarity of the morning, Lydia squinted to make out a fork in the road and a cloaked figure emerging from behind the horizon, in the opposite direction of the carriage. It did not take long to reach the traveler. He posed no obvious threat and was clad in weather-worn garments with a knapsack slung over his shoulder. The traveler stopped in his tracks when the carriage drew close.

"If you were planning to stop at the farm up ahead, it's been sacked," he called. "Looks like it has been empty for a few months. Probably bandits—be careful, I passed by the ruins of the Valthiem Towers." He pointed along the right fork of the path. "Seemed empty at the time, I was lucky enough, but it's an obvious bandit camp so take care not to get an arrow in the chest if you pass by."

Rena slowed Dusk to a halt. "Truly?" she replied in disbelief. "That means there is no pace to settle for several days—we will need to figure something out. But thank you for the warning; may your travels be safe."

Lydia was not certain to trust this traveler, but saw no way in which his claims could harm anyone, if they were false.

"Same to you both," the traveler called after them as Rena brought Dusk to a trot again, but halted again after a couple seconds. Lydia watched her Thane eyeing the map closely.

"It looks like these Valthiem Towers are above the river," she announced. "We are very close already, so it may be best to leave the carriage at this point to be sure that the Towers are safe."

Lydia agreed with this plan; with her years of experience in dealing with bandits for the Jarl she would have come up with the same idea herself.

"Whatever you say, my Thane. I will deal with the horse and ready our weapons. Should I take out the heavy armor, or is our current equipment enough?"

"I do not think there is any need for steel plate," Rena decided, descending from the carriage after her housecarl. "Or arrows, for that matter." Lydia nodded and gave a gentle tug to Dusk's bridle. The mare blinked her wet black eyes and ambled along reluctantly, as Lydia surveyed the clearing of the forest for a tree narrow enough to secure the reins with. She noticed a strange hesitance in Dusk's movement. It first struck her as the subconscious detection of danger nearby: an instinct observable in beasts, but not men.

Lydia thought it fortunate that her Thane had ordered to keep the weapons ready. She lifted the old Nordic axe out of the cart, discovering an unusual lightness for a weapon of such size, and held the handle out for Rena to take. Then she grabbed her own steel sword, feeling its familiarity in her palm. Her own weapon was forged with no enchantments or magical eccentricities, but it did have the property of trustworthiness, which infuses a blade on the battlefield rather than the workbench.

Lydia sheathed the blade and followed the lead of her Thane. A small flock of birds dispersed into the air upon their arrival in the clearing, but their presence on foot was otherwise small and unobtrusive under the colossal dome of a winter's morning. Lydia noted especially how unnatural it felt to walk again after even a day in the carriage. Her legs were tight and seemed almost encumbered by the weight of her boots. The vexation subsided quickly enough. After a few minutes of striding along the path she felt almost poised for combat, fingering the hilt of her sword restlessly. The notion was strange to Lydia; she had taken on a countless number of bandits in her lifetime and lived. In fact, the bandits at the Towers were most likely not present.

Despite Lydia's restless mood, the walk was monotonous, a straight hallway walled by trees. After what could have been minutes or hours, Lydia and Rena were stopped at the foot of Valthiem Towers. A cookfire was newly blazing and the sound of footsteps echoed through the decrepit column of stone. Lydia was not surprised to see a bandit leap from the front gate.

"Halt! This here's a toll road, see?" A scrawny and crudely armored man interjected, brandishing his iron blade. That was something new. Lydia had seen bandits attempt to fool travelers before, but their efforts had never been as pathetic.

"You're going to have to hand over, say… Two-hundred gold if you want to use our road." The huge amount of gold only increased the silliness of the scheme. Rena showed no signs of drawing her blade as she analyzed the situation.

"I don't have that much in my pocket," she said to the bandit. "How does fifty gold sound?"

A scowl came over the man's dusty face. "You ain't convincing me. You two look lousy with gold. Just give it 'ere and we can end this little game."

Lydia waited through a small hiatus as her Thane considered her response again.

"Well, I do have more gold back at our camp," Rena made sure to whisper in case of any other bandits listening behind the wall. "Only a minute or two of walking, back the way we came."

Instantly Lydia recognized her Thane's plan. It was an impressive display of cleverness—Rena intended to lure the one bandit away from the Towers, in order to kill him in seclusion without the rest trailing after. It would be at least half an hour before the bandits noticed their missing scout. The plan had but one uncertainty: bringing the carriage past the Towers. Perhaps they would need to wait at the cart until the bandits were like to be off their guard. However, a new scout would not recognize Lydia or Rena, especially provided that the two would be travelling by cart, and the old scout was the only one to first see them.

"Lead the way then," the bandit spat sullenly. Lydia tried to position herself in between her Thane and the bandit, but after walking for a moment, she found that they had shifted to walking side by side, with the bandit awkwardly lagging behind. Lydia could no longer see him without turning her head, and when they slowed their strides, he lagged slower still.

Rena stopped abruptly. Her gaze remained straight ahead, but she tentatively reached her hand out and tapped Lydia's sword arm with her finger, before signaling her with a nod.

Lydia immediately understood. She ripped her sword from its scabbard and spun around to see the bandit with his blade already drawn. He flung himself in the direction of the two, but Lydia was unsure whether he aimed for her or her Thane. Regardless, her blade met his with a fiery clang and they each struggled to break from the block into a dominant position. Iron screeched against steel, Lydia maintaining a calm focus. Her strength had nearly overcome the sinewy bandit when he delivered a fierce kick to her shin. Clad in light leather armor, Lydia was incapacitated for a moment as she felt the nasty bite of the studded boot. The bandit poised himself to deliver a blow to her unguarded body, before crumpling into the dirt.

Rena planted her foot onto the bandit's lifeless body and tugged the axe from his back. Lydia finally let herself exhale; the fight was over.

"Thank you, my Thane," she sighed. Without you, he would have severely wounded me."

"No, I only delivered the final blow. You were the first to take on him, more than fulfilling your promise to protect me," she replied, wiping her axe in a patch of melting snow. "That happened closer to the Towers than I would have hoped. I still think that we were unnoticed. Let's dispose of the body."

Lydia lifted the ankles off of the ground, Rena grabbing the wrists, and they carried the body towards the nearby stream.

"It's strange how heavy it is," Rena injected as she let the limp torso fall to the river banks. "I hope you do not mind if I look inside that purse around his neck."

"Of course not," Lydia answered, although she actually thought it immoral to search the dead, but she knew her place as housecarl. After all, her Thane's plan had impressed her and evoked a new admiration.

Rena drew an iron dagger from her belt and cut the leather thong which was tied about the bandit's skinny neck. On opening the crude leather pouch she found a handful of septims and a few lockpicks, then pulled the pouch tightly shut and scooped it up in her palm, rolling its owner's mangled corpse into the stream with a gentle kick. Blood seeped from the body and disappeared in the brisk flow of the water. There was a faint rustling somewhere in the trees and a bird darted across the path—probably just started by the body. Lydia and Rena jogged back to the carriage this time.

"Maybe we will be able to drive the carriage past the fort before they send a new scout, but only if we hurry," Rena announced, wasting no time as she pulled herself into the driver's seat of the carriage and slipped her axe beneath an empty canvas sack. Lydia clambered in behind her and swayed with the sudden acceleration of the wagon against the undulating cobblestones.

Rena drove Dusk to a run until the Valthiem Towers were emerging on the horizon. Then she slowed the horse to the idle sauntering of a cart ox with a lengthy journey ahead; hurrying past the Towers would produce a clamor and raise suspicions.

Before Lydia noticed the dull gray outline of the fort, she saw the figure of another bandit, hunched over aggressively with mace in hand. Then three more surfaced from the dense woods and sprinted towards the carriage.

In a flurry of adrenaline, Lydia and Rena leapt from the carriage and snatched their weapons, Lydia darting in between the bandits and the carriage.

"Well ain't this a surprise!" an Orc taunted, the handle of a lumbering warhammer fiercely clutched in his fists. "We didn't think you'd come back here alive. We were looking to loot that old wagon, and violate your corpses." He bared his tusks, his cocky smile fading into a scowl. "You've killed our scout instead." He gave a mopey look that feigned disappointment, while his crimson eyes smoldered with suppressed fury.

"Now you'll pay!" a ragged Nord woman cried from behind the Orc, and all four bandits charged forward.

The closest was the Orc, lifting the immense warhammer in preparation to crunch Lydia like a dry autumn leaf. He would have succeeded, had Lydia not withdrawn her blade from between his ribs deftly enough to escape the hammer as it released from the Orc's hand. Lydia felt her side knock against the shield of another bandit, who seized her across the neck with his forearm. She could smell the musty leather of his gauntlets as the bandit touched his dagger to her throat. Lydia lifted her sword behind her to bash him in the forehead with the hilt. As he recoiled in incapacitation she pried the dagger from his grip and broke free. This bandit's quick recovery took Lydia by surprise; he readied his mace unnoticed and she had time only to deflect it with her shield. The blow was a weighty one which sent Lydia sprawling to the earth.

She met the stone path with a force that fired a series of stabbing pains like fragments of explosive substance throughout her frame. The force expelled the air from her lungs and blurred her sight, accumulating in her cranium as a dull, aching confusion. In that instance of helplessness, Lydia was shut to everything beyond the confines of her skull. Flashes of hide and iron scampered by but did not register; Lydia would have noted blackness in the same way. She noted a twinge in her thigh, but it was so distant that it could have been a gentle pinch, or even a caress.

Then Lydia heard a cry. The ground trembled as it does with the impact of a stone from a high summit, and everything was black.

Everything was black, black because her eyes were shut. When they opened, Lydia was staring up at a fragile wooden ceiling, a crude lattice of oaken planks and nails. Sturdy old stones formed the walls about her. Beneath her the floor groaned with someone's footsteps. _Fort Greymoor_, Lydia's mind announced, before her sense returned and she realized she was inside one of the Valthiem Towers. Little light came in through the windows, and nighttime insects were singing their tireless songs.

Lydia was startled by the weight of her eyelids as she pried them open. She wanted to lift her arm to see if it was as heavy.

"No, don't move just yet," a voice echoed throughout the fort. It was Rena. Lydia let her arm fall, calm with the knowledge that her Thane was still alive. The footsteps hastened and grew louder until Rena was kneeling at her side.

"The bandits are dead. You are still weak. It will pass quickly enough," she whispered.

Lydia peered at Rena out of the corner of her eye. Rena had removed her armor and slashed the sleeve of her tunic, a strip of linen wrapped around her arm. Lydia looked down at herself, in her tunic as well, with her trousers rolled up and a similar bandage about her thigh.

"So, what h-happened?" Lydia managed feebly, annoyed with herself for being the one who needed care.

"Paralysis poison," her Thane answered, pointing to the bloody tip of an arrow she clasped in one hand. "These bandits were well-prepared—the saw through my plan. I am sorry."

"No, my Thane, it's… Bad luck," Lydia stuttered.

"At least it was a weak poison, so potions should reverse the effects quickly," Rena continued.

"Potions? I-I think I need one now." Lydia cleared her throat. "I can sit up." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, conjuring up the effort to heave herself into a sitting position. The dull headache returned. Rena fetched the potion from a dusty table by the foot of the stairs. Lydia took it in her hand as steadily as she could manage and took large sips of the pungent, pale red draught. Its grassy smell brought her to a more attentive state, and she could feel it become easier to remain sitting up as the strength returned to her limbs. Sleep still called to her.

"You shouted," she pointed out.

Rena sighed. "Only a weak shout. The only one I know, anyways. It staggered the bandits a little so I could take on them."

"You are injured, my Thane," Lydia added.

"It is insignificant," she denied, "Not even my sword arm. You had better rest; you will be fine when you wake."

Lydia lay down again, absolutely willing to abide that request. "As you wish," she mumbled, and drifted calmly this time into the blackness.


End file.
